


Spy vs Spy

by akire_yta



Series: the drawer sessions [11]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Bad guys die, F/M, Gen, and there's some implied sexytiems at the end, everyone's a spy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 16:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12685983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: spy!penny and cleaner!john





	Spy vs Spy

The job is the most complex one she’s been involved with since she joined the boys in their little agency.  Penny focused on her part, smiling at powerful men and picking their pockets of important little packets.  

Alan made an adorable waiter, but he caught the drop like a pro, spiriting it away in the space it took her to blink.  It would be out of the country before the echos of the gunfire died away.

Speaking of gunfire, Penny turned and batted her eyelashes at the secondary mark, luring up away from his lax, bored bodyguards to an upper level overlooking the party.  Up here, the windows were huge, paned arches, dull in the late evening.

Lit up by the party, a rookie could have made the shot.  A pro of John’s calibre made the shot through the barely-there gap where  one of the upper panes had been wound open just enough to let in a whisper of cool air.  Only Penny, standing right next to him, heard the  _crack_  as the bullet went through the mark’s eye and made itself at home in his brainstem.

The windows were intact.  No-one, not even Penny, had heard the shot being fired.  Full metal jacket kept the splatter to a minimum, as far as these things went.

Below her, the party continued on, the band loud and the murmur of a hundred conversations louder.  The mark was a dead weight as he slumped, and Penny hissed as her ankle complained about taking the extra weight on heels.  If anyone even glanced up to see them, it would look like a pretty, simpering young thing taking a seat with an older, more powerful man.

Penny let him drop behind the heavily be-linened table and kicked his feet from view.  She muttered a curse as, in turning, she caught sight of the splashes of red down her bare arm.  A touch of her fingers confirmed blood on her face.

Working quickly, Penny unpinned her hair, letting it fall down that side of her face.  The thin pashmina took up most of the space in her purse, but it wasn’t like she was getting a gun in here anyway; not through the front door at least.

Swinging it around her shoulders covered up the worst of the damage.  Penny had her exit planned from the mark point.  The obvious exit, the one she would have used before, would be the kitchens – out the service down and down the back.

Gordon had different ideas.  Only because she was expecting it did she not gasp as a hand caught her arm on the final step.  “May I have the honour of this dance?” Gordon asked, eyes bright and faced flushed as if he’d been drinking.  But pressed up against him in the claustrophobia of the dance floor, Penny could feel how steady he was.  “Six in the kitchen, two in the alley, one high.  Told ya the back door was stupid,” he whispered in her ear.

“Are you done being smug?” She whispered back.

“Almost.  Shall we?”  Gordon handed her back onto the carpet of the seating area, following her in a fluid sweep of motion that had them through the front door before the cloak check and the reception team could even stumble to their feet.

Gordon’s voice was the antithesis of his feet.  “You always nag nag nag,” he slurred loudly.  “And now tears?  Can’t win, can I?  Is that why you were flirting with that wasshisname?”  

Penny had heard that tone a thousand times before, the sounds of a marriage breaking down in booze and recriminations in the most public way.  The foyer guards who should probably be checking them were hanging back with the rest of the staff, enjoying the show or too embarrassed to interrupt, it didn’t matter.

Penny sniffed loudly and let her steps speed up naturally, like any horrified and shattered young lady would.

Gordon’s hand was warm on the small of her back as he half-helped, half-pushed her into the limo that swung seamlessly up to the kerb.

Only once the doors were shut, the sense of speed as they accelerated away pushing them into the upholstery, did Gordon drop the ‘drunk and angry’ act.  “And that, m’Lady, is how you do that.”

He’d taken the seat behind the driver, one foot up on the opposite seat, below the now-familiar dark case, as he settled into his kitty corner.

John was sat upright in the middle of the back seat, but he let his arm be pushed out of the way as Penny snuggled into his side.  “How on earth did you make that ballistics angle?”

He smiled down at her and leaned in slowly to kiss her deeply.  “What’s that knowledge worth to me?”

Penny’s hand slid into John’s lap, and she raised a challenging eyebrow.

“Oi!” Virgil’s indigent shout cut through the moment.  In the rear view mirror, Penny saw him staring at them from under his driver’s peaked cap.  “Not in the limo.  It’s a rental.”

“Then it’s seen worst,” John shot back, leaning over to the controls set into the panel by the door.  “You.  Scoot,” He added with a gentle kick at Gordon.

Gordon only just managed to scramble over the partition into the driver’s passenger seat before John slid the partition barrier closed.

Penny laughed as she slipped between his legs and sank to her knees.


End file.
